


Dream a Little Dream

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, mostly comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: This wasn’t the first time she had dreamt of Illya and more than likely wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time she had done so during a mission while sleeping next to the man in question.





	Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [honeybadgerwrath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybadgerwrath/gifts).



> Have a very wonderful Christmas and New Year, darling! I hope this year brings you happiness, joy, and wonderful memories!

Gaby awoke gasping, her heart pounding and her limbs heavy. Flattening one palm against her sternum and another against her forehead, she exhaled slowly and evenly in an attempt to regulate her breathing. She cracked an eye open, glancing first at the clock that read 2:37 in glaring red letters, and next at her Russian partner who lay softly snoring beside her.

As surprised as Gaby was that Illya had slept through her vivid dream and, she was sure, the noises that had accompanied it, she was more than a little grateful. This wasn’t the first time she had dreamt of Illya and more than likely wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time she had done so during a mission while sleeping next to the man in question.

Gaby exhaled softly again, throwing one leg over the side of the bed, then the next and slowly pushing herself to an upright position. Illya was still snoring, sprawled out on his stomach, his hands resting gently on either side of his head. Gaby allowed herself a moment to glance at her sleeping partner, a soft smile on her lips. She had worked with the man long enough to know that Illya only ever slept like this at the end of missions when there was little to no threat and even then, he only fell deep enough into sleep to snore when he was really, _really_ , tired. Gaby curled her fist into the cool sheet tangled around her torso and gently removed it, careful not to disturb Illya or the ragged bullet wound on his left side that had been bandaged earlier that evening.

As she crept to the en-suite bathroom, the chilly air mixed with the memory of watching Illya bleed onto the concrete floor outside the warehouse where she and Napoleon had found him made her shiver and grip her arms to hold herself together.

Gaby assumed that their two-night maximum mission in Urbino would require little undercover work and contain mostly reconnaissance, little contact, and no mess. Of course, with her boys in tow, there was always at least one moment of excitement.

The three UNCLE agents had been charged with monitoring communications between a weapons manufacturing company and a small, private law firm that Waverly believed had ties to THRUSH. They had arrived the day before, set up surveillance equipment along the wooded area outside the company’s satellite factory, and all had seemed relatively quiet throughout the evening until, on Illya’s third round, gunshots shattered the stillness and Illya’s communication went out.

It had taken less than two minutes for Solo and Gaby to locate their fallen Russian partner, but at that point, the damage had been done. A tripped wire had resulted in Illya’s location being compromised. The two security agents who came to investigate had easily been disposed of, but not before one had gotten a lucky shot in that grazed the left side of Illya’s torso. A shot from Gaby’s gun had rung out as a third guard materialized at the edge of the property.

Gaby, as she always did when either of her boys was injured, had covered up her worry with German curses and eyes alight with anger. Clearly, Illya should have been more careful. This would be the last time she patched him up after such a ridiculous slip-up, she had promised, tearing a strip of fabric from the rag Solo had handed to her and reaching into her back pouch for her field medical kit.   
Gaby pulled herself from her thoughts by filling up her glass and taking a large sip of water, not looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She hated that she was already so attached to her partners, hated that she didn’t seem to care that her long-held standard of never letting her heart open again had been so easily unwoven by a pair of bright blue eyes. A groan from the other room made Gaby start and set the glass down, before switching off the light and returning to the bedroom.

Illya was still asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, but his fists were clenched tightly in the mattress next to his head and his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat, a soft dotting of pink along his torso showing that he had unintentionally undone Gaby’s meticulously placed stitching.

“Illya?” Gaby reached out to touch his shoulder, gently brushing him with her fingertips but he reacted instinctively and jerked away, eyes still closed, and began to cry out in Russian.

“Illya!” Gaby knew a nightmare when she saw one, being all too familiar with the concept after years of war and the horrors that followed. She knelt down next to the bed, giving his shoulder an indelicate shake but he was too far gone for it to make any difference.

“ _Sheiße_ ,” Gaby glanced around her in a panic wishing for a moment that she had brought her glass out with her. If she shook him any harder, she’d risk ripping the stitches out even further.

“Sorry,” she mumbled gently before, seeing no other option, smacking him hard across the cheek.

Illya’s eyes flew open and he sat up, tearing himself away from where Gaby knelt against the mattress a hand raising instinctively to reach for his gun sitting on the bedside table next to him. It took him a second but Gaby could see consciousness filtering through his eyes rimmed red with sleep and he sighed heavily, sinking back against the headboard and letting his head smack against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Gaby asked quietly, afraid of what he might say.

“ _Da_ ,” he answered softly, his voice husky and deepened after hours of silence. Gaby stood and crawled across the bed, sitting cross-legged to face him, her hip against his knee.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Is nothing,” he promised, a ragged sigh escaping his throat as he ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. “You can go back to sleep.”

Gaby nodded but didn’t move from where she sat, watching his chest as his breathing returned to normal and his heart rate settled.

“I’ve never heard you talk in your sleep before.”

Illya glanced at her through his eyelashes. “Did I say something?”

She shrugged, pretending not to notice the way his cheeks flushed a light pink. “It was all in Russian, I couldn’t understand it.” He nodded once but said nothing.

“It _looked_ like a bad dream.” She tried again, staring at the painting above Illya’s head as if she had been tasked with memorizing its every feature. “The way you reacted to me waking you up, I’ve never had to try that hard before.” When he didn’t comment, she continued, annoyed that he’d make her spell it out for him. “You don’t normally act that way when you’re asleep, so obviously something is bothering you. You don’t need to talk about it, but if it’s the same reason why you didn’t see that tripwire, then it’s obviously affecting your work-”

Illya shook his head, halting Gaby’s increasingly angry statements. “Tripwire was simple mistake, will not happen again.”

She nodded slowly, pulling her knees up to her chest and lifting a shoulder as if it made no difference to her. “Good.”

“Nightmare was separate incident, happens when I am injured on job. Injury does not happen often, but occasionally due to large target,” at this, he gestured to his torso and Gaby couldn’t help but smirk. “One or two bullets find their mark.”

“Yes, well I’m glad you were smart enough to jump out of the way this time,” Gaby commented. “Even if your reflexes have dulled.”

Illya smiled slightly at that, reaching his arms above his head to stretch and wincing when it pulled at his stitches. He placed a hand on his side, examining the wound. “It is Cowboy’s fault, decadent Western meals and extravagant alcohol lessens instincts.”

“Of course,” she allowed, stretching over the mattress to turn on a side lamp and fumble around for the field first aid kit she had put there.

“I thought you said that was last time you would stitch me up.”

“I’m a woman, it’s my prerogative to change my mind.” She said simply, not looking at him as she ripped open an iodine wipe to clean around the broken tissue.

“Change your mind,” Illya scoffed, removing his hand to allow her better access. “I have never met a more stubborn woman. You do not change your mind, you make decisions far in advance and let the rest of us suffer believing we are doomed without you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I did not say this was accurate statement,” Illya said, and she could hear the smile in his voice as she examined the stitches. “Only that it is plot in which you are inventor.”

“You give me far too much credit.”

“You do not give yourself enough.” Gaby glanced at him then, surprised at the soft tone his voice had taken. “We would be doomed without you.” He hesitated, still looking at her hands where they were placed on either side of his bullet graze. “I would be doomed without you, too.”

Gaby felt her cheeks turn red as her traitorous mind conjured up images of the dream that had her awake in the first place. “Well,” she patted the spot next to his wound to signal that she was done, and she rose to her knees, returning the kit to the bedside table. “You won’t die from this cat scratch, so I suggest you try to go back to sleep and get some more rest before we fly out tomorrow.”

He nodded, trying and failing to hide the smile that crossed his face as he took in her flushed cheeks. Gaby was able to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his expression, but just barely before she switched off the light and laid her own head down onto the pillow and closed her eyes.

She felt rather than heard Illya shift behind her and was glad to hear him breathing evenly, hoping that he had returned to sleep. Gaby knew that she was going to fall asleep too as the familiar weightless sensation began to trickle through her mind.

“Gaby?” Illya’s hushed voice kept her hovered just above unconsciousness.

“Mhmm?”

“Thank you for helping me.” He murmured quietly. There was a pause, but a hint of hesitation in his voice was quickly overridden by a small moment of determination. “I…I dreamt of the night my father was taken from me.” He admitted softly. Gaby didn’t move to turn around, knowing that Illya was more comfortable telling this tale to her back. “I dream of this occasionally, but I am not normally woken up. I am glad it was your face I saw first.”

Gaby didn’t know what to say, moved that Illya had shared this with her but terrified at this moment of closeness. She did roll over then, opening her eyes to look into Illya’s blue ones.

“You’re right, you know.”

Illya raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “You and Solo, you’d both be doomed without me.” Illya glanced at the ceiling, scoffing at her words but allowing a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth.

“But, that’s good news for you.”

“Really? How so?”

Gaby raised a hand gently to cup his cheek, his own coming up to hold hers in place as she smiled at him.

“Because I’m not going anywhere.” Gaby patted his cheek softly in stark contrast with her earlier smack and rolled back over to close her eyes. “Goodnight, Illya.” She said quietly, feeling him shift closer to her and listening as his breath became slow and even when sleep overtook him. “Dream pleasant dreams.” 


End file.
